Monster
by LeiaOrganicSolo
Summary: You can feel it, gnawing slowly at your bones, condensing in your blood. You are a creature born and bred of pain, fuelled by rage and dark eco. /or the month of Dark Jaktober over at DarkJakPwns on deviantart/rated T for violence/


**So I grossed myself out writing this. It's rated T for a reason guys, and it's definitely not for the squeamish. However if you are an angst loving horror fanatic, this is the fanfic for you!**

**Happy Dark Jaktober!**

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><p>You can feel it, gnawing slowly at your bones, condensing in your blood. You are a creature born and bred of pain, fuelled by rage and dark eco. You can feel it growing, growing until you burst, until you are going to explode. You try to fight it but resistance is futile, so you succumb to the hate and the anger and the fear, becoming one with the dark eco flowing through your veins.<p>

The transformation is the easy part—you know when to expect it and what it entails.

It takes control of everything, paralyzing your body with pain and the three most painful words of your entire existence:_ I own you_. It is what forcefully pushes crooked, edged horns through the thick skin of your forehead, no matter how hard you push at them with your palms. It is the substance which sharpens your teeth into gnarled, pointed fangs, sharp enough to tear through bones. It is the force which draws out your fingernails into long, onyx claws made specifically for slicing through organic flesh.

The transformation is easy, because all of this happens in a matter of seconds, and you're never reduced to a pale, pathetic, hunched over creature for long. It's what happens afterward that keeps you up at night screaming, Daxter calling frantically in your ear that it was only a dream.

It's starting to rain but it barely registers as the dark eco takes hold of your senses. Your ears twitch once, twice, and you assume there to be at least fifteen, twenty guards—you're never quite sure. In this state you can't be bothered to check; you can't be bothered to do anything but kill.

_"Get him!"_

You feel the gun about to strike your temple and before the soldier is even aware of it, you attack, plunging your claws into the thick flesh of his stomach. He's screaming, screaming at the top of his lungs and you want to snarl at him, tell him to shut up, just shut up, that he had no idea what true, agonizing pain even felt like, but you can't speak as Dark so instead you tear at his throat with your teeth.

His blood is warm and sweet, even mixed with Haven's smoggy rain as you drink, and drink, and drink. The guard is no longer screaming, instead gurgling pathetically as the color drains from his face completely and you find yourself smirking, his blood running down your cheeks and staining the earth.

You swat at his chest and are gratified to see he makes no motion even as your claws sink into the flesh. The man is no longer moving, reduced to a limp, bloodied corpse. Your fingers close around his heart and even that has ceased to move. Suddenly you feel a bullet graze the skin of your shoulder and you howl in pain, whirling to face another Krimzon Guard.

He is terribly young; you can tell by the way his knees knock together in fear as he stumbles over himself to flee from you.

_"Precursors . . . Shoot him now! Shoot him!"_

He doesn't make it far before you've got him pinned to the ground, fangs ripping through flesh and organs as he shrieks and flails his arm in the last moments of his existence. You make your way to his ribcage and your fangs are grazing over the bones, scraping against each and every ridge. You bite down again, this time harder and abruptly one shatters, filling your mouth with fractured bone. You recoil in disgust, forked tongue working frantically to remove each and every piece of skeleton before you swallow them.

Your ears twitch again and you look sharply to your left to see not one but two Krimzon Guards charging towards you, weapons blazing. You can smell gun powder and your nose curls. One bullet enters your upper arm and you can feel the other skip off of your thigh, but you're too pissed to care. You pounce at the guards, listening to the sickening crunch as one of their necks breaks on contact. They cry out in pain wordlessly just as loudly as the others did and your rage mounts and suddenly you've torn through two, three, five men dressed in bright crimson.

The rain is coming down harder, but you barely notice as this darkness consumes you. You chew viciously on one soldier's shoulder, and the leg of another. The blood is pooling from the corpses, running like a tainted river from their broken, shapeless bodies and into thick puddles that bare the reflection of your pitch black eyes.

_"Don't let him get away!"_

You are a criminal, a freak, a monster—feeding on the flesh and guts and blood of other men.

One man suffers a repeated blow to the head as you bring your fist down, again, and again, and again in time with that tiny nagging voice—criminal, freak, monster. Out of nowhere, another lunges at you, the butt end of his gun aimed at your temple. You are faster, sinking your claws into that delicate stretch of flesh below his eye that his helmet doesn't cover. He falls, clutching his face as the blood pours from underneath the armor and you finish the kill, your dark bloodied claws tugging on his neck and twisting, hard.

The transformation is the easy part, and so is the killing. You're designed to kill, a living, breathing weapon.

_Snap_ go the bones, _crunch_ as you ground them into powder beneath your feet. _Slice_ as one decapitated head falls after the other, blood draining and brains dangling.

_Snap, crunch, slice, smash, snap, crack, crunch, slice_—and then there are no more.

Killing is easy.

The rage begins to ebb as the rain comes down harder and suddenly you feel tired, weary, feeling as though you are a thousand years old. You fall to your blood-stained knees, shut your eyes tight against the pain as your horns begin to retract, you clench your fists as the claws begin shrinking down to into regular, normal fingernails. You keep your body tense even after you feel your fangs revert to teeth, the same teeth you've had since you were a child in Sandover Village.

You keep your eyes shut so tight and your fists clenched so hard and your body held so tense you shake, even as Daxter chants in your ear that the guards were gone and that they were safe, that nothing was out to get them anymore and he was okay, they were both fine.

You keep your eyes shut so tight and your fists clenched so hard and your held body so tense even as you feel your breath hitch in your throat, and you begin to retch as your stomach empties itself of every ounce of flesh, guts and blood you've digested that day.

You keep your eyes shut so tight and your fists clenched so hard and your body held so tense because you know when you finally open your eyes, all you'll see is the broken, mangled, bloodied corpses of men that you single-handedly brutally murdered—without a second thought.

You keep your eyes shut so tight and your fists clenched so hard and your body held so tight because you know it doesn't matter if you do or don't—_you'll always just be a monster._

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><p><strong>To join in on Dark Jaktober month, head on over to and find the group DarkJakPwns! Not a member? Then join! Questions? Send me a pm or a note on dA. I'm BlueEcoFreak!<strong>

_**~LeiaOrganicSolo**  
><em>


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